


Waking Up Nel Suo Letto

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Morning Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Waking Up Next to One Another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: The morning after the first night in Palermo...The combination of gazing into Giorgio's brown eyes as the swarms of Palermo locals had passed by, milling in and out of lazy, lopsided doorways, a permanent hubbub present - and the heat of the air - had been a force to be reckoned with when it came to suppressing his feelings.Knowing all of this, he was all the more startled, as his eyes flickered open, to realise that he was not in his own room.





	Waking Up Nel Suo Letto

**Author's Note:**

> Italian phrases beta'd by the wonderful Mcicioni - thank you x
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

Andrew was fast-asleep, dreaming. His semi-addled mind was filled with flashes of images from the night before. He felt almost drunk still, not merely from the extremely strong Sicilian aperitif introduced to him by Giorgio, which they rather overindulged in, and perhaps shouldn't have so readily mixed with the local wine, but also from the buzz that was Palermo itself. It was vibrant and full of life to the max, and sometimes dizzyingly so. He could hardly keep up.

Having said that, every time he _looked_ at Giorgio lately he became dizzy. The man was too handsome for his own good, but there was something more to it than that. Now, in the historian's favourite ever city in the world, he had inadvertently found himself with his favourite ever _person_ in the world. And the combination of gazing into Giorgio's brown eyes as the swarms of Palermo locals had passed by, milling in and out of lazy, lopsided doorways, a permanent hubbub present - and the _heat_ of the air - had been a force to be reckoned with when it came to suppressing his feelings.

Knowing all of this, he was all the more startled, as his eyes flickered open, to realise that he was not in his own room. He scoured the room to confirm his fears, seeing the younger man's personal effects littering the space - _his_ alarm clock, _his_ aftershave, _his_ clothes on the floor... _on top of his own_ . Andrew could feel a warmth behind him and he just _knew_. He then panicked, flipped himself over, and was most shocked to see Giorgio there beside him.

"Buongiorno!" Locatelli chimed, "Good morning, my _sleeping beauty_!" He was sat up in bed, reading with his back to the wall, half-dressed in dark blue jeans which complimented the beautiful olive of his torso's skin. This delicious sight had not escaped his co-presenter's notice, and only made him blush greater as he tried to back out of the situation.

"I.. uh," he stammered, realising that he, himself, was only wearing boxer shorts and that the undergarments in question had almost wriggled off during the night.

"Ah... don'a worry - I can see your face Andrew," Giorgio grinned and pointed at him, "You just fell asleep on my bed and you were so drunk I could not move you off of it! Nothing _untoward_ 'appened last night..."

"Phew," Graham-Dixon pretended to wipe his brow and then the two men fell about laughing, as they so often did - on and off camera. They continued to giggle for a minute or so before the noise died down. The neighbours must have wondered what the _joke_ was. But the relief began to turn to disappointment somewhat as, after all, Andrew was finding himself increasingly attracted to his colleague. Something suddenly came over him. "It's a pity," he said, shyly.

"Oh."

"Yes, I hear you Italians are excellent lovers," he grinned.

"Well, maybe I'm lying," Giorgio snorted. "Yes... maybe we actually had hot passionate sex all night but you jus' don'a remember it 'cause I wasn't very good. Maybe I don'a want to bring it up," he smiled, giving Andrew a little shove.

"Perhaps so," the historian was gaining a little confidence now and, as ever, Giorgio's fantastic sense of humour was putting him at ease. "But I'm sure I'd be a little sore in the arse department if we'd been having it off all night, so I think the first story is probably true!"

Again, they laughed raucously. Giorgio threw the old guide book on top of him and started to bash him with it. The thing had practically disintegrated by the end of the assault. The library would not be best pleased. "You typical Englishman!" he berated him. "There are many, _many_ ways for two people to have sex - it doesn't 'ave to be like that."

"Oh yes?"

"At least a dozen I'd say," Locatelli gave him a cheeky wink. His eyes then retreated to the almost-completely-battered 'Food of Sicily' book.

"Please..." Andrew cleared his throat, then scooted across the sheets a little to be beside Giorgio. He hesitated for a moment, as he realised the chef was staring at him in anticipation, before he pushed the book aside - as if the poor paperback needed any more damage - soon it would be in an unreturnable condition. Graham-Dixon trailed a sole finger along the centre of Locatelli's chest, working down towards his navel and stopping just short of his waistband. "Please elaborate, Giorgio," he finally plucked up the courage to say. "I want you to show me something new." There had been _no_ shortage of revelations on this trip.

Minutes later, with not a word in between, they were level on the bed and face-to-face. Arms were wrapped around each other's bodies, legs were entwined, and erections were pushed up together, tightly, with the friction of Giorgio's denims driving Andrew crazy, as he was only in his underwear. "Ah," he murmured at the slightest of movements.

They kissed, a little tentatively initially, but soon they were snogging with all of their might. It wasn't wild and carefree but, instead, firm and strong, as they calmly explored one another's bodies with their hands and one another's mouths with their tongues.

"Well this is how I _personally_ like it... _Andrea_ ," the Italian whispered, breathless from the kiss, "Nice and slow and gentle! This is the best way. I show you."

"It doesn't feel gentle against my cock," Andrew laughed an embarrassed laugh. The large brass buttons of the jeans' fly were sending shockwaves through his body as all four of them brushed past his boxer-clad hard-on, one after the other - _bump, bump, bump, bump -_ and the roughness of the fabric was bringing him far closer to the finish than he would have liked. If Giorgio didn't take his jeans off soon, he would be getting them rather sticky indeed. "Your jeans are a little rough," he smiled, "I think you should take them off. You're far too overdressed."

Locatelli shuffled the trousers past his hips to reveal white briefs and a sizeable package therein.

"And the rest," the historian licked his lips, drinking in the sight before him and enjoying the taste of it as more of Giorgio's tanned skin was revealed. His cock and balls were full and ready for sex. Andrew yearned to feel their bare members grinding in unison, and so pulled down his own black boxers to make it happen.

"Fuck... _Andrea_... that is nice," there was a nod of approval. Graham-Dixon assumed he must have been referring to the feeling of their erections rubbing together and not making a compliment about his naked body. He wasn't exactly the Adonis he saw in so many of his favourite Italian paintings. His cheeks reddened and his cock hardened to hear the words spilling out of Locatelli's mouth, "Andrew, you are gorgeous."

He rolled onto his back and Giorgio began to pump his cock quite quickly now. They both knew it would not be long.

"Oh... it's been a while, Giorgio..." Andrew panted, "I don't think I can last." The younger man saw this as a cue to pick up the pace and, not before long, the historian was coming in Giorgio's hand with a large groan. Thick, white spurts of semen landed in the fur around Andrew's belly button. Locatelli could not help himself, as usual, with his irrepressible desire to _taste_ everything, from licking what remained of the juice from his partner's skin.

"Oh fucking God," the spent man threw his head back and swore, watching Giorgio curiously from out of the corner of his eye. "You like that?" he chuckled, grabbing a tissue and wiping himself down.

"I wouldn't put it in one of my recipes," Giorgio smiled, "But I like it 'cause you're as sexy as 'ell." He reached down and tugged his own dick. "Hey, I am so turned on now. You are going to 'ave to do something to me or else I am going to explode."

Quite frankly, all Andrew wanted to do was go back to sleep now. He felt as drained as his balls. But seeing his friend wanton, with his jeans around his ankles, the whole spectacle was enough to make him hard again. And how could he refuse Giorgio? He rolled back over and made his way down the bed until his face was in line with the Italian's hard penis. He took it in hand and started by gently licking the tip, teasing the shaft with his fingers and sucking the head with his mouth.

Locatelli was in ecstasy. " _Mio dio_... Jesus Christ... Andrew," he writhed in the sheets, twisting them with his hands, "I cannot believe this is your first time!" In theory, it _wasn't_. In Andrew's mind, he had already done everything _possible_ with Giorgio. 

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Andrew advised, temporarily taking his lips off of Giorgio's erection. He resumed, attempting to take as much of the length into his throat as he could and slowly repeating this motion. He then went back to teasing with his tongue and alternating between the two practices. "I'm trying my best... But it's giving me lockjaw," he giggled - he was trying so hard to be serious and sexy, and failing.

"I am close," he gasped. "Stay where you are. I want to wank off into your mouth."

"God, you're filthy, Giorgio," Andrew sniggered, "You're a depraved man."

"I do not go around museums all day pretending to look at art when I am only there for the paintings of naked ladies," Locatelli joked, snorting, " _You're_ the pervert." By this time, he was speedily jerking his own cock and Andrew was slowly stroking his friend's thighs in encouragement. Giorgio laughed, "So open wide - I want to come in your mouth, you pervert."

He was fortunate, because Andrew was so busy laughing in fits of hysterics - as he often _was_ around Giorgio - that he managed to compose himself in time for the chef's climax, wrapping his mouth around his dick at _just_ the right moment to receive his ejaculation. He swallowed it all, gratefully. Well, at least he was grateful in the moment - when he realised what it tasted like, he'd wished he'd kept his mouth shut and it had landed somewhere less offensive - like his _eye_.

"Yuck!" he creased his face in disgust, "That's fucking vile. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you know me, Andrea - I like to share new tastes with you wherever we go," came the response of the smug, self-satisfied Italian bastard.

"It's hardly fucking ice cream though, is it?" Andrew's wince gradually became a smile, "You'd better kiss me again to take the horrible taste from my mouth." The pair shared a brief snog. They then laid back on the bed together, aglow. He rolled away from his lover only for a second, to check the alarm clock and see how long they could just lie here for, undisturbed. "I say, Giorgio - we don't have to be up for another hour or so..."

"Fucking fantastic," he exclaimed, holding the historian close to him with one arm and wrapping the sheet around them with the other.

"I wonder when we'll try the other eleven ways," Andrew thought. He turned to Giorgio and grinned, before nestling into the embrace. Not now though, of course. Now was the time to dream - _again_ \- but, this time, _not_ of the night before, but of the morning _after._ The Palermo nights are humid; the Palermo mornings are most definitely _hotter_ , it seemed _._ They held each other lovingly. The sheets were soaked in sweat and so were they, but they couldn't get enough of each other's body heat. Would the maid know why the sheets were so damp?

" _Must have been having some sort of dream_ ," Graham-Dixon decided he might tell her as they left for the day. "A _wet_ dream," he thought, with a naughty smirk.


End file.
